it's empty, white walls cover all four sides of the room,
the floor is white,
the lights are white.
all white.
except one canvas on which
there is a phrase.
a group of words.
a brilliant blue sky
now, you step into the next gallery,
a new room,
it's white walls, white light, white floors expected.
you search each wall,
scanning the perimeter,
anticipating something,
probably a brilliant blue sky.
you're here for art after all,
it's a gallery,
but you find nothing is there.
you move through the exhibition,
thinking,
"this artist is being overpaid,"
or
"this artist is brilliant,
because they are displaying art,
and so far, there's no art."
but, you're curious,
so you step through,
and as you step through,
you visualize a brilliant blue sky,
like that one time,
as a child, when you were 6,
and your family vacationed at the coast,
and the pacific ocean was vivid and vast,
a deep pacific blue that captured shades of indigo
that reminded you of your favorite blue moon ice cream
OR
like that time when you were 15,
and you choose your favorite
sapphire blue color for the prom and you
draped your body in the most luxurious silk dress
that matched your eyes
OR
like that time when you honeymooned
in Italy and you walked the marble blue mosaic stone pathway
leading to the hotel and warmed your soul and fed your heart
and as you walk to the next room,
your mind has created scene after scene of
brilliant blue that you find,
oddly enough,
that you don't need to see a brilliant blue sky on canvas because your mind carries you to places beyond,
from past to present to future
until
you walk into the final gallery
and you see a mural of
a brilliant blue sky
and it's a green meadow.
